Inherit the Wind
by Crumpled Piece Of Paper
Summary: It was stupid, a love doomed from the start. It should have never worked...We didn't need the pain. But I couldn't leave you...I couldn't let you die. Casteshipping PharaohxThief
1. Act 1: Denial

**Summary:** It was as unexpected as snow on sand, as wrong as hell, and more painful than either could imagine, but was it worth it? A tragic tale of love and loss. Casteshipping Atemu/Akefia

**A/N:** Yes, a new fic. - But this one practically wrote itself. It's not going to be a mega-long one, I've already planned it out. Around ten, if less, chapters. You see, I was in English one day and we had to recall or make up an incident in relation to Romeo and Juliet. Considering my sudden (but not surprising) love for Casteshipping, I was all over the tragic romance deal and turned it into a fanfiction. Yay me! Anyway, thanks for stopping by, I hope you stick around for more chapters!

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**Inherit the Wind**

By Crumpled Piece of Paper

**Act 1: Denial**

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And his day had been going so well, too…

Pharaoh Atemu resisted the urge to slouch on the throne, though his face said quite enough. A flat expression shadowed the king's features, clearly bored despite the commotion that was taking place before him. Shouts echoed throughout the vast throne room as a white-haired man was carted off...again. It wasn't his first time being brought before the king, for sure.

The angry man screamed obscenities upon deaf ears, flailing about wildly. He was a notorious thief, one that had been riding the Pharaoh's conscience for the past three years, for you see; it was three years ago that his father's remains vanished from his tomb, only to appear once more before his own eyes in this very same room, a noose around the sad mummy's neck and Akefia holding the end of the rope.

Since then Akefia had also committed various other petty acts, (mostly to annoy him, the Pharaoh assumed) that were considered worthy of hefty punishment. However they paled in comparison to his trechery and defilement and as such probably wouldn't even be mentioned at his hanging...or beheading. Atemu couldn't quite decide which method would be most satisfying to watch... and yet, the king couldn't help but feel a nasty sinking sensation, warning him that both decisions would, eventually, come to naught.

Akefia was never apprehended for very long. The persistent tomb robber had a way of slipping through sticky situations like soap on wet skin.

Suddenly it was quiet (too quiet). Atemu looked up, now alert, his crimson eyes narrowing in suspicion. Akefia was still in the room; it shouldn't be silent. The Pharaoh glared at the man, watching...how odd, he'd stopped struggling and appeared to be….laughing? Atemu's brows furrowed and he tensed, all too aware that the thief's giggling couldn't be about anything good.

"And what is it you find so funny thei…f." Atemu trailed off, his firey gaze clashing with the steely blue look of the tomb robber, despite the good fifty feet that separated them. And while Akefia's mouth was parted in a mirthful smile, his eyes were filled with a hate so passionate, so personal, it sent shivers down the Pharaoh's spine and a lick of fear through his heart. Akefia's look said more than death, it promised immense suffering.

With that, the white-haired problem was tugged from the room without hassle, and a thick, rocky silence reigned supreme. Atemu could practically feel his High Priest's nerves crackling through the air at his sides.

Priest Seth cast him a look with his own pair of hard blue eyes, though, unlike Akefia, Seth's eyes held confidence, a sureness that can only come in knowing where you stand. Perhaps there was more haughtiness and pride than was reasonably healthy for one...or ten men, but still... No lowly thief could ever posses a High Priest's gaze.

The man had noticed his cousin's discomfort, "Don't worry, Pharaoh, in a week's time he'll be little more than a stain at our feet." Seth's smile was almost equally unnerving as Akefia's eyes, for it carried the very same message, albiet ten billion times more subdued, and far more professional, but the young king had learned to see through all the masks his cousin wore a long time ago. There was no difference.

Atemu swallowed the lump in his throat, though his expression was still tight, and he was vaguely aware that he may be having a mild heart-attack.

With a sigh the Pharaoh excused himself, dismissing his court for the day. All other cases would be dealt with tomorrow, when he was at least semi-alert and not recovering from (stroke, heart-attack..?)...something. He was tired, and a headache resonated dully at the front of his skull, effectively blocking out most incoming speech. He'd had a ton of headaches similar these past years.

Chasing, capturing and holding the white-haired menace had been horribly exhausting; talking with him a moment ago had been equally as draining as the past three years' efforts combined. It seemed no matter what Akefia did it wore on the young king, and it was starting to show.

Atemu's patience had always been papyrus thin with Akefia, and it had seemed that only the thief could get a rise out of the otherwise steadfast, level-headed and honorable ruler, for the white demon knew all the wrong ways to rub him, and hated him more than anybody else, it would seem.

Now, however, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Atemu's tolerance level for any insubordination wahtsoever was low. He'd gotten snappier and colder, not willing to tell his closest friends of his plans and staying up until all hours of the night to think and worry.

The remaining priests met each other's eyes briefly before departing, each with varying amounts of concern for their Pharaoh. None of them wanted to know what would happen down the line, should the Pharaoh be kept having to deal with Akefia's behavior. He would change. He could end up like his uncle...or worse. No, they would stop it before it started. Akefia would be executed in one week's time, hopefully sooner; no matter what.

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It was late, so late it was probably morning.

Atemu stood out on the balcony that was connected to his chambers, his head resting on his jewelry-free arms as he leaned over on the railing.

The freezing night air had his skin goose-bumped, but he paid it little mind, actually enjoying the chill temperatures, so vastly different were they from the summer's sun. As far as he was concerned, the nippy breeze that licked at his exposed skin was a godsend.

As he sighed, his breath clouded and dissipated, appearing for a moment much like the sparse clouds that drifted below infinite starry skies above. Atemu couldn't help but feel calm beneath them.

And yet, something niggled persistently at the back of his mind, despite his efforts to forget about it. It'd been that insatiable niggle that had kept the young king up into the early hours of the next morning, pondering most everything that one could ponder with no satisfaction with the answers he concluded.

Ironically, this whole thought process proved very tiring.

Atemu pushed himself up from the slouched position he'd assumed and stretched, wincing slightly as his back cracked and popped, having gone stiff with nearly an hour in the same position in the cold.

Absently he wandered back into his chambers, into the spacious, tapestry-filled room he occupied. Fit for a king, rich in color, texture and soul.

Shutting the balcony door behind him Atemu leaned against it and closed his eyes. He couldn't understand his restless mind.

Moving foreword he passed by his bed without so much as a side-ward glance, there was no way he was letting sleep catch him yet, despite his weary state.

Shucking off his sandals the Pharaoh crept out into the hallway, his steps now silent as he padded through the spacious corridor. A walk through the palace at night was like a trip into another world, he mused, crimson eyes flicking back and forth about his surroundings. Warm, vibrant colors of drapes and paintings were neutralized in the moonlight, cold, lifeless. The white marble floors were icy, and with the pale light spreading out like a sheet across them, well, one could imagine a sleek snowfield. Even the king's own eyes appeared a light violet.

Atemu's wanderings took him through the throne room, past the courtyard and down the Scribe's hallway. Various doors leading to various rooms in which documents and numerical tapestries were held had been fastened several times and bolted shut for the night. Atemu rolled his eyes at the scribe's protectiveness. Nobody would be stealing any of the palace's precious knowledge of crop yields this night! Oh no, sir!

As he exited this hallway and took a left, mindlessly walking a few more paces before coming to a large door; he suddenly realized where it was he was headed.

Death Row.

Atemu froze for a split second, his movements halting as this thought occurred. A shudder ran up his spine, making it's way to the top of his head. But, it was as if his body had a mind of it's own now and he had no say in what it did.

Atemu had opened the dungeon door and descended the short flight of stairs to the main corridor, all without really meaning to, you see. The long, cold, drab passage way possessed twenty-five cells in all, twelve on one side, and twelve on the other. The ones on the left, upon entering, were the only ones with windows, the cells on the right had to make do with the light the other cells offered. And then there was the one at the end of the rows.

It faced the door from down the hall, a tiny barred rectangle it's only view on the outside world. All the other cells had three solid walls, and then one of bars, this particular cell had all four limestone walls, not to mention several locks and barricades across the wooden door. There were six guards standing alert outside the cell, but they paid the Pharaoh no mind as he approached. Atemu, surprisingly enough, often came down here. While he wasn't a horrible person, he did like to see what the people who ended up here were feeling in the days, sometimes moments before their deaths. He wanted to know they felt guilty for the crimes they'd committed, that what they had coming was what they deserved. Call it a way to sleep at night.

Oddly pensive at the moment, Atemu slowly put a hand on the door's surface as he reached it, only to instantly pull it back; as if the wood were on fire. The touch also seemed to set his mind right. What in Ra's name was he doing here? It was Akefia behind that door, not some long-lost friend. He shouldn't be pitying him or feeling guilty for him. Think of what he's done! He deserves this!He deserves everything!

Scowling, Atemu about-faced and stalked away. If this was what his conscious was keeping him up about, then fine, he'd stay awake, but there was no way in hell he was going back there. Ever.

Akefia listened as the footsteps faded away, only slightly curious as to who would be wandering around barefoot (a sneaking tactic). A lifetime of his own sneaking and hiding had sharpened his hearing, so the approach of someone outside was second-nature for him to sense, even when dozing.

The thief had tensed; preparing to rise should whoever was out there enter. Probably those guards again...but...why on earth would they need to sneak? And surely those monster's footsteps wouldn't be so light, even barefoot? Luckily, the footsteps left before he need exert himself further, mentally or physically.

Although he would never in his lifetime admit it, the Pharaoh had done good in choosing his men.

The one's who'd dragged him down here had left bruises in his arms from their meaty fingers, and the ones around him had taken their toll on his body after they'd beat the crap out of him for fun, or for their own purposes, whatever justified those brutes... Of course, Akefia had fought back, seriously injuring one and leaving his mark on most of the others. Then again, seven against one wasn't really fair, and when you're already starving and desperately thirsty and weak, you don't stand a ghost of a chance, no matter who you are.

Fortunately, now there was only six, as the injured man had taken his leave after Akefia had been stuffed and bound in the dark cell. They didn't trust him in any of the other far more open enclosures. Yes, heaven forbid he see the moon again...

The temperature didn't help much either, making his movements stiff and jerky with its frigid level. It was fucking freezing down here, and with only threadbare linen shorts protecting him from the cold, well, it was uncomfortable, to say the least. Despite his best efforts to conceal it, every now and again a shiver crawled up his back from any contact he had with the gritty stone walls, sending tremor-like movements through his body as his muscles spasmed in an effort to keep warm.

There was very little light to see by, only a thin haze, to be precise, thus making anything out but the shadows of his cell was impossible; though, if he squinted, he could see the barred window at the top of the door leading into his cell.

It was going to be difficult to break out of this one…They hadn't left him a window this time, security had more then doubled, both in number and strength, and he was weak and emotionally weary. To be frank, life these past few months had been like running naked through hellfire. Akefia had a moment of true fear then, his heart skipping. Was it...was it even possible that he wouldn't make it out?

His troupe had abandoned him, ratted him out, leaving Akefia with nothing but the clothes on his back…for awhile at least, those too had been taken from him after being captured by one of the Pharaoh's patrols (which, he'd like to point out, had been sent his way by those devil-loving theives he'd called his companions). Damn, his mind must be weakening too, why else would he come back to the Pharaoh's city in such a state, anyway? Had he been asking to be caught? Even without the tip-off from those traitors, he probably would have ended up here.

Oh well, it felt good to blame somebody else.

Akefia sighed lightly. All he wanted now was rest, and thanks to the Pharaoh, he could finally get it with no fear of being murdered in the night. Heh, how grim.

Shifting against the stones Akefia crossed his arms and let his snowy head fall back, eyes sliding closed. Another shiver crawled up his spine, but the white-haired man paid it little mind, barely shifting as he fell into a fitful sleep.

The early morning sun found the young king sleeping.

Not yet ready to face the morning, he yawned without opening his eyes and stretched in a feline manner, resulting in a few pops and cracks from his protesting spine and arms. Rubbing the offended spot on his back, he wondered what he could have done to…oh, yes. That's right. He'd had that fun little excersion last night. He never slept right when he stayed up late...

Crimson eyes blinked open and he found himself staring at a very pretty vase. Above it was an equally pretty painting, a peculiar painting as well, not because it was in his room, but instead because it wasn't.

Atemu pulled himself to his feet, glancing in both directions. Hallway, hallway. He'd been sleeping against (he checked behind him): a wall, wonderful…wait…Looking behind him again the Pharaoh found himself face-to-face with an all-too familiar door.

How the hell had he fallen asleep in front of the death-row dungeons!?

Shaking his head and preparing to rise, Atemu started at the sound of voices from behind the door. Shit! The change of guard! He had to move, fast.

Too late.

The door opened, revealing the tired faces of several strapping men. All blinked at their ruler, some pondering if he was an illusion, a result of sleep-deprivation.

"Your highness?" One spoke, "What brings you here so early?"

Atemu's heart unclogged itself from his throat, allowing a reply, if somewhat choked, "N-Nothing. I was just passing through…continue on, then."

The face of the man who'd spoken revealed obvious doubt, but none of the exhausted men questioned it, each only wanting sleep. As they shuffled down the hallway, a few cast Atemu looks over their shoulders, muttering amongst themselves.

Atemu reminded himself to find less gossipy guards...

Coming from the opposite side of the hallway, louder, more awake voices were now audible. The change of guard, right on time.

Before the cluster of men blocked his view, Atemu's gaze drifted into the cold darkness of the many-celled dungeon through the door which had been left ajar, and for a moment he imagined he could see the cell at the very end, the only one with a door instead of bars, the only one without a window to the outside world. Its occupant probably would never see real day again. Atemu frowned, disturbed by these morbid thoughts, and then sprinted off to dress.

The day was relatively uneventful for the young king. Petty thieves and other criminals stood before his courts, were given judgment, and dragged out for the next case to be brought in. He signed a few contracts, looked over countless proposals, and somehow managed to work in a meeting with the Grecian ruler.

He was pooped.

Atemu had stayed up late working over a deal, and only now shuffled off to what he hoped were his chambers. In his over-tired state he probably made a wrong turn….somewhere. Hey, it was easy to do! The palace was huge...the former rulers had gone through every espense to flaunt their glory, build a testament to their power, etc, etc.

He expected sleep to come immediately after entering his chambers, and was a bit confused at the cold black that greeted him upon swinging open his door. No…wait…not his door, not his chambers…

Damn it! Atemu slammed the offending block of wood closed, not particularly caring who may have heard it. His scarlet eyes willed it to flames.

How the hell did he keep ending up here!? What was wrong with him!? Sleep. He needed sleep, and lots of it. Yes, that had to be the answer, for nothing else could explain what was so obviously ludicrous.

However, Atemu didn't depart immediately, he stood for a good three minutes staring blankly at the dark door before he did anything, and what it was he did he would never forgive himself for.

He opened the door.

_Again._

The king blanched and shut it, only this time very gently; softly.

Atemu was beyond angry with himself and more confused then he'd ever been. A headache threatened to crack his skull and his eyes felt like they were coated with ash. Without sparing another glance towards the accursed door, he walked slowly away, fully intending on clearing his head. Somehow, mysteriously, he'd found his way to his rooms. Not bothering to undress or even kick of his sandals the young king threw himself upon the lavish comforter of his bed and promptly fell asleep; letting the night claim all thought of dungeons and thieves.

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**End Act 1**

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	2. Act 2: Obstacles

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**Act 2: Obstacles**

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Atemu sat in front of the cell, knees pressed against his chest. He had no idea what he was doing here AGAIN, but he wasn't leaving until his conscious cleared. The young king's head rested atop his knees, and his crimson eyes bore holes in the door. Atemu was starting to feel a little pity for all the prisoners he'd sent to the dungeons before. It was dark, and very cold. Every few seconds a shiver ran up his spine and made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle.

The guards outside the closed cell were still there, though, once again, they paid their king no mind as he sat before the prison. None of them could fathom why the Pharaoh would want to stare at a door for hours, it seemed silly, he didn't even talk to the occupant.

It was always at night when the Pharaoh came, that for obvious reasons. What kind of ruler had the time during the day to sit and hold silent conversations with wood? So instead he used what should have been resting hours. The strapping men who stood about pitied the king, and couldn't help but wonder what was on his mind.

Atemu and the guards both started at the gruff, coarse voice that broke through the silence.

"I know you're out there...Why don't you come in? I won't bite." Atemu could almost hear the wicked smirk.

Atemu only glared harder at the following snickers, his initial surprise flaring into irritation at the voice. Kicking out his legs and preparing to stand, Atemu opened his mouth to say something, but halted, in both speech and movement, when Akefia decided to speak again.

"Don't leave…"

The king almost fell. While that may be the Thief King's voice in the Thief King's cell, the words he spoke could never belong to Akefia.

Atemu swallowed whatever it was he had been about to say and let himself sit once more, only this time with his legs crossed. He was unsure whether or not he should say anything. There was no doubt Akefia would recognize his voice, and he wanted to see if the Thief King uttered any more out of character comments.

"Glad to hear you stayed."

Now that sounded more like the callous white-haired man Atemu knew. This voice was sugar coated with sarcasm. Biting back a cunning retort, Atemu limited himself to an affirmative grunt.

"Not very talkative I see; has someone snatched your tongue?"

To this Atemu offered no response that the thief could see or hear, furrowing his brows and crossing his arms, pouting because he really couldn't say anything to disprove the thief's childish statement, as much as he felt it would have been hilarious to say: "Why no, has someone snatched your freedom?" Heh. That would have put a kitten in his bonnet!

For a long while there was silence, and the Pharaoh considered leaving, but some unseen force kept him rooted to the spot, waiting on the thief's next words. He was once more surprised by the voice, not because it hadn't been expected, but because of how it sounded.

"Who _are_ you!? What do you want? Do you _enjoy_ sitting there, imagining my suffering!? Why don't you just come see it, then, coward!?"

Atemu didn't answer, not because he couldn't, but because he simply didn't _know_ why.

Why did he insist on torturing, apparently not only himself, by coming back again and again? Why? Why anything? In the past five seconds it felt like Atemu had aged fifty years with the thief's questions.

As he left, he managed to catch a coarse parting comment.

"Don't come back."

The Pharaoh didn't return to the dungeons until two days later. It had taken him two days to find the answers, but now he had them, and he fully intended on rubbing them in the arrogant thief's face. He would have waited longer, later, if he could. Perhaps suddenly leaving in the middle of a trial was not the wisest thing to do, but in judging that merchant's case he'd found the perfect replies, and Atemu wanted to say them before they died on his tongue. And besides, Akefia had only two more days before his execution.

You can't gloat to a corpse.

Upon entering the dungeon, however, he was surprised to find a very different scenery from the one he'd grown accustomed to seeing. The guards were different from the night change, of course, so they were surprised to see him; but Atemu paid them no mind, he'd grown used to ignoring guards. What he did notice was that all of the latches and bolts and bars had been undone from Akefia's cell. There was someone inside.

The door suddenly began to open. Before the person exiting saw him, he cast the guards a look, ordering them not to say anything about his being here with a swift hand gesture before ducking out of the dungeons and hiding in a hallway crevice, behind that pretty vase.

Needless to say, he did not expect to see his High Priest exit that corridor, and certainly not wiping away a crimson fluid from his arm. Atemu's stomach clenched in an uneasy way. Who's blood was that, and why was it on Seth? The said priest hissed as he touched his arm before walking past the vase, never seeing the crouching king as he muttered something about white-haired demons with sharp teeth. Atemu frowned, watching Seth's retreating back. He'd seen Seth when trials began…when had he left? He shook his head. No matter, it was irrelevant now.

After checking to make sure the priest was gone, Atemu slipped out from behind the vase and practically bolted back down into the lit dungeons, the twenty four cells flying by as he made his way to the back of the hall-like room. The day guards eyed him warily, but a scarlet glare had their eyes averted.

Atemu began to undo the latches and the bolts that had probably only just been locked by the guards, not really thinking at the moment. He wanted to know why Seth had been in here, and what he'd done. However, as he was rattling a particularly stubborn bolt, a choked voice from behind the door paused him.

"Back again, priest? Didn't get your fill first time 'round? Come on in, I'm not dead yet."

Atemu continued to hesitate even after Akefia's growly voice had silenced. His tone had been feral, animalistic and wild. It made the Pharaoh have second thoughts about opening the door. It sounded like the crazed thief would tear him to shreds!

"What are you waiting for!?" Akefia snapped from behind the door, and Atemu wished he would have spoke slower. Could that have been a waver in his voice?

The last of the locks and bolts finally fell loose, startling the pharaoh. Atemu hadn't been aware he was unlocking them. All that was left was the barricade. With some effort he heaved the heavy chunk of wood aside. The only thing separating him from the irate tomb robber was the door. Atemu heard clinking sound from within, and felt a small wave of relief. So he was chained…good?

Despite the looks he was receiving from the guards, the Pharaoh pulled open the door, blinking slightly as his eyes adjusted to the murky darkness that swirled inside.

"You!? Why are _you_ here?"

Atemu hoped Akefia hadn't seen him jump. With the light flooding the small cell, everything became visible, the cell's occupant included. Atemu grimaced at the sight of the tomb robber, regretting entering.

Akefia snarled, his steely gaze ripping into the young king, "What!? Have something to add that your dear priest failed to?"

Akefia's muscular body was riddled with wounds and even against his tanned skin bruises were obvious. The Egyptian looked like he'd fought with a twenty-foot crocodile and lost. One of his eyes was swollen shut, a rather nasty greenish bruise surrounding it. There was perhaps a seven-inch gash in his side that was a very interesting color, and various other injuries, all of which looked rather serious.

Atemu swallowed, unsure what to say. He should have expected something like this…it happened to all convicts with so many extreme crimes. But Seth? The priest, his cousin…He'd known the man was rather stiff-hearted, but surely no decent human could ever…Atemu wanted so badly to turn and leave like he'd done so many times before, but yet again, something kept him here.

"Why?" Atemu was surprised that it was himself who was asking this question.

"Why _what_!?" Akefia snapped, obviously furious.

"Why would you put yourself through this? You must have known that this awaited you. Why even bother coming back? What's the point? Was it worth it?" Atemu's voice took on an air that surprised even its owner.

Akefia scoffed, a wicked smirk playing out on his features, "You really want to know, precious Pharaoh?"

No, not really. Atemu thought to himself, but didn't make any motions otherwise, so Akefia continued, pausing first to chuckle and the absurdity of it all, of what he was about to say. The battered man's laughs quickly escalated into horrid-sounding coughs. Akefia, who was standing, even sunk to one knee, trying to gain back his breath.

Acting on impulse Atemu moved forward and knelt near the thief.

Also on impulse Akefia flinched away, glaring at Atemu though his coughs had not yet receded. "Stay…cough...the fuck...away from me! cough" Akefia snarled, hastily wiping blood from his lips. However, when the thief tried to stand, he was met with a sudden case of light-headed-ness, and barely had the time to press himself against the wall of the cell in attempts to steady himself before collapsing.

Atemu wasn't quick enough to catch the fainted man, and winced as Akefia landed in what must have been a horribly painful position, considering his injuries. Though unconscious, Akefia still seemed racked with pain.

Now that the thief was out cold, it seemed that the lace holding Atemu to the cell would have been broken, but alas, it seemed only to have intensified. The damn tomb robber didn't answer him. Atemu snorted, it figured, the man seemed to be finding everyway to defy him. But not much longer; and good riddance. Atemu still bristled with anger at the thought of what had been done to his father, and the grim satisfaction the thief's death would surely bring. Akefia's demise would be satisfaction enough to put him at ease. He hoped.

Atemu missed his father, a lot…all the time. The king was still young, sure, old enough to be a man, but still very much young enough to make more than his fair share of stupid mistakes. He wished the previous Pharaoh was here to help him through it. With a soft growl, Atemu realized that his father was probably stirring in Ammut's belly by now. All thanks to Akefia.

Atemu was startled upon realizing how much he hated this man, this thief. He could understand, at least in part, how Akefia managed to hold such passionate contempt in his eyes, for the pharaoh was rather certain the same cold hatred stirred in his own.

Atemu stood abruptly and was more than ready to leave, tired of sharing company with the white-haired monster. But it was at the doorway when a thought his father had pressed so strongly upon him as a child froze Atemu to his roots.

_Be kind_, he'd said, _be understanding. Forgive to forget. Be fair. Be just. You must become worthy to be Pharaoh, or you'll ultimately fail_.

How? Atemu seethed inwardly, appearing rather stoic for the moment. How was he ever supposed to be _kind_, be _understanding_ to someone like Akefia? What about all the other criminals? Was he supposed to be understanding with them?

Atemu shook his head with a loud groan. He knew Akefia wasn't like other criminals. He was...different. Atemu felt more compelled to treat him like an equal, an enemy, sure, but an equal on the field of battle, in life too, he realized. And you don't treat petty criminals like equals. You treat equals, even ones like Akefia...well...Atemu didn't know, really.

_Well, for one, you don't leave them like this. _His moral code chimed in.

Atemu turned and grudginly walked back to the unconscious thief. If what had been done to him was inhuman, leaving him like this would have to be devilish, and Atemu refused to sink to that level. If Akefia was going to be executed he was going to damn well be healthy for it! Decided, he turned to his plans: how (_And WHY!?_ His common sense shouted, unhelpfully) was he supposed to cart the most wanted criminal in all of Egypt out of jail unnoticed?

Take out the guards. Not literally, of course; there was no way (even though he _was_ rather strong) he could take out seven of his best men. But who in their right mind would disobey the Pharaoh?

"Guards!" Seven heads poked in the doorway. "I demand you leave as quickly as possible, unless you want to end up like him." Atemu gestured sharply towards Akefia, trying his hardest to keep his face like Seth's, that is to say, emotionless and cold. When the large men hesitated, Atemu nearly dropped his mask. Oh no, they saw right through him! They would cart him out of here and have him tested for insanity, for sure! But no, with a shrug and some odd mention of lunch, the guards left without any trouble. …But what if they were seen in the hallways!? Damn!

"Wait!" Once more seven heads flipped in his direction, all with brows raised, "I also order you to take the long way to wherever it is you're going…You could use the exercise, I'm afraid." A glare was received from the largest, obviously strongest and most in-shape of the seven, Atemu gave a small, hesitant smirk, and was left alone.

Hurrying back into the cell, the Pharaoh looked over the chained man. Still unconscious, he gave no objection as he was unceremoniously shifted so Atemu could get to the cuffs. He frowned. There was no keyhole…The Pharaoh's scarlet eyes rolled. Of course there wouldn't be. Akefia was supposed to be the best of the best, the _King_ of Thieves. There was no way something that could be easily picked would be left out in the open.

But there still had to be a way to get them off. Atemu's eyes roamed up the chains, to were they were fastened to the wall. Nothing. He gave a small, obviously futile tug on the chains connecting the thief's wrist to the stone wall. The pharaoh sighed in an agitated manner. No, he was not defeated…only stumped. While cutting off Akefia's hands was always an option (and a tempting one, at that), Atemu couldn't think of anywhere to hide a thief that was splurting blood everywhere.

Well, if Akefia could get out of locks, so could he. Surely he was as smart as the thief, right!? He just had to think like one…

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**Act 2 End**

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A/N: Oh, I wonder how he's going to get out of this…Sorry for the ending! I know it sucked…Oh, and bad reviewers! You let me call Atemu 'Akefia' for three whole paragraphs! Don't you know that you're supposed to be the ones to catch my mistakes!?...I'm kidding, of course. - My bad.


	3. Act 3: Fruitless

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**Act 3: Fruitless**

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Getting Akefia out of the chains was the easy part; lugging him up a full flight of stairs and through seemingly endless corridors while avoiding being seen was the hard part (believe it or not).

The thief's large hands had slipped through the bonds surprisingly easily after being coated with scented oil. All royalty practically bathed in it each morning, so there was plenty of it in the storage room down the hall. That had really been the only way to get Akefia out… Atemu had had no success in finding _anything_ that could have possibly freed the thief. How they bound him in the first place was a mystery, but one he intended to solve after a long discussion with his dungeon masters.

Atemu made one last check of the hallways before he slipped back into Akefia's cell, the coast was clear, it was now or never… Why he doing this again? Nevermind. Now wasn't the time, he was too into this to back out now (namely he wasn't sure how to put the cuffs back on now that he'd taken them off).

The young king was physically fit from sparring sessions every two days, but his strength was nothing compared to what Akefia's must have been. The man weighed a _ton_! Atemu actually fell the first time he tried hoisting the unconscious prisoner onto his back. Needless to say, while it had knocked the wind out of him, he could only imagine what it must have felt like for Akefia, who for sure had a few broken ribs already. But Atemu didn't want to imagine it, so he didn't.

Finally Atemu shuffled out into the corridor outside the dungeons, doubled over with the larger Akefia piggy-backing a ride. Grunting, Atemu leaned against the wall for a moment, almost unsettling a familiar painting. After quickly gaining his bearings, the king started off again, carting away what felt like the world to certain doom, but what was really only one extremely beaten man slung across his back.

He had to keep thinking that way; that Akefia wasn't who he was. Atemu needed to imagine him as a helpless innocent (lest he drop the beaten prisoner back in his cell and continue with his life like normal. Now why hadn't he done that? Good question, something about morals and such, maybe.) Right now the only thing he could concentrate on was not falling over again.

As Atemu approached the stairway, he felt his grip on the back of Akefia's knee slipping. The flesh was slick with blood from a gash a few inches away. Not good, not good! Luckily, after moving his hand further down, he was able to grab the fabric of the thief's shorts instead, obtaining a much firmer grip. He huffed a relieved breath and tried to ignore the position his hand was in as he continued up the stairway of death.

Atemu hated the designer of his palace. Who the _hell_ in their right mind would put in so many _fucking_ stairs! He'd underestimated them, the stairs that is. And now they were very close to thwarting him. Atemu stopped for perhaps the sixteenth time since he'd started up the way, nearly panting with the effort. His eyes stung from sweat that threaded its way into them, but Atemu couldn't wipe it away, lest he drop Akefia and send the already broken man to certain death-by-stairs.

Instead, he used Akefia's not-so-snowy hair as a towel substitute.

While it was obvious the thief needed a bath, or twelve, Atemu also noticed how soft the spiky head was. Like feathers, almost-Hold up! No way. Nothing about the thief was good. Not his hair, not his breath, not his muscles (which by the way were very close to crushing him) and certainly not his personality! ...though, as he was out for the moment, it could very well be said that he didn't have one.

Akefia groaned and shifted, and for a split second Atemu feared the thief was waking, but no, as the king watched out of the corner of his panicky eyes, Akefia simply winced and let his head fall back into the crook of Atemu's neck, out once more with a sigh. Akefia's breath sent an opposed shiver across Atemu's skin wherever it touched, but the king shook it off and with a grunt was on his way again, pretending the incident had never occurred.

It took nearly two hours to cart Akefia's sorry carcass into his chambers. Two hours that nearly killed the Pharaoh. Exhausted, Atemu was covered with a film of perspiration from the exertion, and a few growing splotches of Akefia's blood on his clothes from where the wounds drooled all over him. Unfortunately, both the sweat and Akefia's blood made the thief very difficult to carry, and Atemu succeeded in dropping him a few more times before they had reached his door. Once on the stairs, even, though he didn't tumble very far. Atemu was rather surprised he hadn't killed the suffering man by accident in his attempts to heal him.

Upon throwing open the doors with what little strength he had left, the pooped Pharaoh had stood for a moment, limbs shaking with the effort of supporting the much larger man for so long, and was about to let himself collapse. Until he remembered afore mentioned 'much larger man' was still slung across his back. And so he avoided dropping, and being squished by, the already injured Akefia at the last second.

Atemu crouched and let the white-haired thief slide off his back and onto the floor…off any of the very lavish, very expensive, very imported Persian rugs. Standing, Atemu's back protested at the shift in posture with a wet snap as the joints popped back into place. He was going to be a hunched over old man in the next two years if he kept this up.

Though he was tired, Atemu couldn't very well leave the bleeding thief sprawled out on his floor. With a heavy sigh and hooded scarlet eyes the king stared down at the pathetic-looking man. "You're really far more trouble than you're worth, you do know that, don't you?"

Of course, Akefia didn't reply. For some reason, his silence cemented Atemu's decision to stay awake.

This time Atemu didn't get shunned when he knelt beside the thief, however, now that he was not fleeing security and actually facing the injured man face-to-face, Atemu was able to see the full extent of Akefia's injuries. His nose crinkled in automatic disgust. It was obvious more than one of the fleshy wounds were infected. Not only did he smell funny because of it, but the gashes themselves were all various sick colors. How long had he been like this?

Reaching out his hand, Atemu let his fingertips brush over Akefia's forehead. Gee, great, just what he needed. The thief was burning up. It was unlikely, in this state; he'd ever wake up and be sensible enough to answer Atemu's questions, much less face an honorable execution.

So, despite the irony, Atemu set about healing the condemned man. He wasn't much of a doctor (that's what he had healers for), but soon enough he had most of the gashes clean and wrapped. Unfortunately, he didn't have a clue what medicine he should add to the bandages or give Akefia. Wonderful. He needed help… But there was no one in the palace who could offer it. It seemed Atemu was on his own…

In fact, Akefia was probably already noted as missing, and a million search parties were probably scouring the grounds. Oh no…they'd be looking for him, too. After all, the Pharaoh's most hated enemy had escaped, he would have to be notified…that, and he'd been missing almost all day...Oops…

Panic seized the king's heart. He had to find somewhere to hide Akefia, some where they'd never look in a million years…

So Akefia was thus scooted under the Pharaoh's bed. It was a little dusty, but other than that, empty, and with the sheets being so long, it was hidden as well. The only problem was warmth, it was rather cold on the limestone floors, and Atemu couldn't very well let Akifa get any worse. After thinking a moment, the young Pharaoh scampered out of the room, returning a few moments later with some extra blankets. Atemu hastily piled them up around the thief, taking the time to once more scoot Akefia aside to lay down two blankets for him to lay upon.

There wasn't much room to move under the bed, so getting the thief back into his 'nest' was rather difficult, and resulted in a few good-sized bumps to the Pharaoh's royal noggin. But, eventually, Akefia was moved and settled.

Luckily, right before he ran out the doors to find his search party, Atemu happened glanced down at himself. Totally filthy. Crap. The weary king trudged back into his chambers to clean himself up as well.

Atemu had only just finished throwing on a new pair of clothes and dashing the bandages and water he'd used when there came a few loud raps on his door, accompanied by, "My Pharaoh! Come quickly, it's urgent!"

Atemu fought off the urge to grin knowingly as he opened his door to face a worried-looking servant. "What is it?" He prayed the expression on his face was formidable.

"Oh, my lord, it's horrible! Y-Your prisoner sir! The thief, he's, he's…" the servant stumbled and shifted his weight nervously. Even he knew how testy the Pharaoh had gotten over these past years…don't kill the messenger? Please? The man's eyes seemed to beg of him.

Atemu cocked a brow, wondering why on earth this man was taking so long delivering information the Pharaoh not only knew about, but had caused. Despite the fact the poor man could know none of this, Atemu grew impatient, "Come on, man, out with it!"

"He's gone, your majesty! Gone!" The man wailed.

_Okay, I already know that. My turn, then?_

Atemu glowered down at the already quivering man with a deep scarlet glare and curled lip, his fists clenching and muscles tensing. He made a seriously imposing figure, especially when he bellowed, "He's what!?"

The man stared up at him for a moment, the whites of his eyes almost the only thing Atemu cloud see. With a strange sighing gasp the man fainted.

Oops…too much? Oh well. As quickly as it had been secured into place, the Pharaoh's angered expression slid of his face, and, after closing his door behind him, he walked off casually down the carpeted hallway to the throne room, where he supposed he should go next.

He left the servant on the ground, but moved him out of the doorway. Someone would come by and pick him up.

With a sigh, he prepared for a night of sure-as-hell-to-be-fruitless searching.

Seth stared at his king oddly as they rode through town. Considering his serious demeanor and humorless presence these days, Atemu was taking this whole search-for-the-murderous-thief-you-loathe ordeal rather lightheartedly; and to be frank it was annoying the hell out of the High Priest.

…He'd talk to him later about it.

Later came, but Seth had yet to confront his cousin on his strange behavior. He just couldn't get a word in, and it was pissing him off to no end. People constantly seemed to suddenly remember something to say to Atemu right before Seth said anything.

Particularly Mahado, who seemed to be timing these things. Especially since the other priest always glanced over in Seth's direction after cutting him off to propose the most ridiculous hiding places.

Like inside a clay pot outside a merchant's hut. Or inside a teapot. Or even worse: under a rock. It only made Seth more irritated when Mahado and Atemu had both stopped their horses, stooped and began flipping over the damn rock. The whole thing was ridiculous, and he still couldn't figure out why they weren't taking it seriously, Atemu especially! This was his nemesis for Ra's sake! His sworn enemy! It didn't make sense!

Apparently, Seth's steamed condition was starting to show on the outside, because Mahado was staring at him again.

"What?" Seth snapped, not in the mood for any of his friend's stupid-ness.

Mahado flinched, "Well, jeez, what'd I do to you?" He sounded innocent, but Seth saw the mischievous sparkle behind the words.

Seth narrowed his steely eyes, "You know."

Mahado raised his eyebrows with a badly hidden grin, "Do I?"

Seth just snorted and turned away. Mahado would get his…in time…

Atemu suddenly piped up, "Hey Mahado, that basket of fruit is suspicious, shall we investigate?"

The high priest's humored expression left his face at the Pharaoh's call, swapped for a stony expression just barely being held in place as he said, "Yes, your Majesty; right away!" And so trotted off to apprehend the fruit.

Seth was three seconds away from detonation. Three.

Two.

One…

"Seth, this is no time to be just standing around! We have a serious mission here!" Mahado called, glaring at Seth while Atemu eyed an odd-looking banana.

Boom.

"Mahado! Come here, now!" Seth barked, sounding very much like a pissed off mother.

And, immediately assuming the role of the child who'd done wrong, Mahado slinked over to the other High Priest, trying to look as innocent as possible.

Seth wasn't amused, his icy blue eyes glacier-esqe as they bore into the other's glittering brown eyes. Grabbing Mahado by the arm, Seth led him around his horse, so they were (for the most part, Seth's hat is rather tall) out of sight from the Pharaoh.

"Why are you playing along with this!?" Seth hissed through gritted teeth, "There's obviously something wrong here, and don't you dare say you didn't notice."

Mahado pouted and pulled his arm back, "Well, if the Pharaoh's not upset by this, why should I be?"

"Doesn't that seem…suspicious to you?"

"Seth! Are you trying to accuse the _Pharaoh_ of something!?" Mahado gasped over-exaggeratedly.

"Shut it. What I'm _saying _is that he _knows _something." Seth cast a glance in the Pharaoh's direction, though he couldn't see him through the horses' neck. "I don't know what it is…but I'm going to find out."

Mahado just shrugged, narrowing his eyes, "Say whatever, I still think you're trying to convict him."

"Nobody cares what you think, Mahado." Seth said before smoothly mounting the horse they stood beside and moving to stand near the Pharaoh. "Just watch, I'll get to the bottom of this…"

The other High Priest snorted indignantly, but let the comment slide as he went and mounted his own horse. Seth could think whatever he liked, Mahado wasn't going to be so quick of accusing the Pharaoh of something like that…and why would he, anyway? Atemu _hated_ Akefia more than any of them. Mahado sighed, there was no logic in Seth's suspicions, which only served to confuse him more, considering Seth, who thrived on logic, had thought of it.

The sun was starting to set, and so the royalty retreated, leaving the lower ranks to continue searching through the night for a thief that had never left.

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**End Act III**

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**A/N**: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I was going to add more to it…but I ran out of ideas….-sweatdrop-….anyway, the next chapter has some of what you've all been waiting for: fluff! –squee!- I can't wait to write it either, so be on the lookout for an early update! Until next time: CPOP


	4. Act 4: Rude Awakenings

[NOTE: Changed Atemu's name to 'Atem' due to the discovery of new (to me) translation information declaring that this is the way it was meant to be spelled and etc. Sorry for any confusion!)

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**Act 4: Rude Awakenings  
**

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_Oww, damn…Where am I? …Huh? What the… It's…warm now…It's nice…_

…_But that's not right…is it?_

Moving faster than I probably should (giving the protesting pull of my muscles) I frantically pushed myself up and away from the warmth I'd been nestled in. Unfortunately, I didn't have very much room with which to go up after throwing myself around like that. The back of my head met with something hovering right above me where I'd been laying; something very solid and unmoving. Something that (despite the dull 'thunk' of my _skull cracking_) gave not even the slightest indication that it'd been hit whatsoever.

Despite myself, I yelped and let out a hiss of pain before crumpling back to the floor, clutching the offended spot and weaving my fingers through my, ew, _dirty _hair to get at it. Great, _that_ was going to bruise…Ow! Damnit! Who the _hell_ put the ceiling so _fucking_ close to the _fucking_ ground!? I rubbed my forehead against one of the blankets, willing the stinging away as I tried to get my thoughts in order.

This wasn't right…I had no blankets…my cell was empty. I blinked and looked up, scowling but being sure to keep my head low should that blasted ceiling move even lower. The ceiling (which, I noticed, had gained the odd addition of some wooden beams…) looked like it hadn't dropped any further so I let my eyes close wearily. I sighed heavily. Fuck it, if the ceiling felt like being a bitch than let it, I was tired…and dizzy…I let my body fall back on the cooled blankets, though I was further down than before and my feet were now lying on the cold, smooth floor instead. Smooth…that was wrong too. Where was I again? Had I figured that out yet? Ohh, damn, I had a headache, and not just from the bump.

Lying there, I realized my head wasn't the only thing hurting; it seemed every inch of me throbbed with painful resonation. It had been stupid of me to move like that. I carefully tested out each of my fingers. They were all in working order, if not a bit scabbed and mottled with dry blood. All my toes wiggled just fine. One by one I stretched my legs out, wincing at the pull. But that was to be expected, I probably hadn't moved for hours after that…session….

It was only when I decided to try and test my arms that I noticed the bandages. I blinked in confusion. _What the hell…?_ Sure, they were probably the worst wrapped tourniquets on the face of the earth, even in the near non-existent light I could tell that much, but, still... _Who…? When…?_

My stomach pitched precariously, and to tell the gods-honest truth, I was getting a bit creeped out; not to mention nauseated, though, that was more due to…well…something else. What had _happened_…to…me…? I started in realization, once more automatically throwing my body away from the ground, only to _once again_ crack my head against the unreasonably low ceiling. Damn it all! The cursed thing was probably laughing at me.

Wincing, but not bothering to stop and pet the injured area like before, I scooted away, ignoring all the gut-wrenching protests my body was making. I didn't care, so long as I got away.

Leaving the nest of fabric behind, I only stopped when my foot rested against a post of some kind. I looked around the area quickly from my corner, eyes darting from shadowy area to shadowy area. The room swayed and twisted dizzyingly as my sluggish mind tried to connect the pieces. This was the strangest room I'd ever seen. Well, what I could see of it, anyway. There was even less light than my other cell, and that was saying something. I couldn't even make out the walls in here! ...Unless…that one over there was one of them, in which case, I think it just moved.

My mind swam. This was all too confusing…too…tiring…but…

…The Pharaoh…he'd come into my prison…for what...? Blast it all! I don't remember! … I do recall the feeling was odd…awkward...did…did I pass out? Shit! I bet that's just what I did. Wonderful. Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful….

The Pharaoh probably laughed his ass back up to his royal court after _that_, Hell, I know I would have if I were him. Not that I'd want to be. Ew.

Damn him…He had no reason to…laugh…Ugh, I feel horrible. As it is I'm barely holding down what little I've had to eat. The dizziness and tiredness only make the feeling worse…Gotta think of something, _anything_ to take my mind off of…that feeling. But what…?

…Yes…that's right! The chains were gone! Ha! Heh… I thought I'd never be out of those things! Ugh. Now how do I get out of here? There has to be an exit around here…wait, what's that glowing-"HOLY HELL!"

Normal P.O.V.

Atem jumped at the thief's yell and immediately drew back, letting the bed skirt fall from his grasp to pool around the floor. His brow furrowed in irritation. _At least he's up…That means this ridiculous game of hide and seek is almost over. _Atem stood with an agitated, tired sigh and made his way to the wall to let his torch rest in its proper holder; taking his time as he did so. Atem was in absolutely no rush to be confronted by the demon hiding under his bed.

The flickering, teasing light from the flames made it bright enough to see only the barest detail in his chambers, the shadows becoming elongated and deformed, dancing wickedly against the stone. The king quickly lit a few more, so that he could see properly before approaching the bed again. The thief had scared the shit out of him last time.

…Not that he'd ever admit that aloud…

However, what should Atem find when he lifted the sheet again except a very still, very passed-out Akefia huddled near the bed's leg. The young king sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting his head fall back. _I swear he's making this more difficult for me on purpose…_

After doing one more last check to make sure the coast was clear, Atem dragged out the unconscious man from under his bed. It was difficult, Atem was still sore from carrying him up here, but by hooking his hands under Akefia's arms, it could be done.

With one final tug Atem was able to fully pull the man out; never mind the fact that in doing so it knocked him on his royal butt with Akefia halfway on top of him. Atem quickly crawled back and out from under the larger body; the thief slumping to the stone floor with a quiet thump. The Pharaoh hesitated a moment, but then moved foreword on his hands and knees to sit quietly beside him.

Atem sighed and looked him over with a critiquing crimson gaze, resting his head on his fist. Most of Akefia's loosely-adorned bandages were stained and leaking, and there was a trickle of blood staining the rumpled white hair near the back of his head. Atem smirked at this, running his fingers over the matted area, realizing where the new injury must have come from. _Stupid thief._

Ah, but if only he could laugh about the rest of Akefia's injuries…

Despite the fact he'd spent a long time dressing the wounds, they all looked terrible; worse, even, than the night before. Atem sighed in frustration and hugged his knees to his chest as he sat next to the unconscious thief. This wasn't going to work! If he didn't get proper help there was no way Akefia was going to live.

Yes, Atem nodded into his arms, help was needed. Badly.

"Your highness!" A squeaky voice chirped outside Atem's door, "Great Pharaoh, please, open up, it's urgent!" _Again?_

Atem rolled his scarlet eyes to the heavens, _Ra, what did I do to deserve this?_ He pleaded silently, only to be interrupted by a frantic, "Your majesty, please!!" Ra, the man sounded like he was about to cry. Atem got to his feet and flung open the heavy door just as the tall, willowy man before him let out another wail.

"What?" Atem snapped, not in the best of moods considering his enemy who he'd so _kindly_ _saved_was currently repaying him by dying all over his floor at the moment.

The watery-eyed man blinked in a rabbit-like manner as his pale brown gaze met the flat expression of his ruler. "U-um-uh…er…" Hakiha stammered, his winding fingers tapping anxiously at the air. Atem's scowl deepened. He didn't have time for this crap.

"Spit it out, already!" the Pharaoh barked none-too-kindly at his scribe, who jumped and flushed at Atem's irate tone.

"W-well, y-you see…um…Y-you, left your n-notes, s-s-ire…." Hakiha beamed proudly, though stuttering nonetheless.

Atem grit his teeth to keep from biting the scribe's head off and snatched the notes with a bit more force than necessary. "Thank you." He bit out, "You can leave now."

Hakiha didn't seem to notice as the scrolls were ripped from his hands and so grinned cheerily and bowed deeply before scuttling off to do…whatever it is Atem's scribes occupied themselves with.

The pharaoh tossed his notes carelessly to the side and started to pace. He needed a plan…badly. Ugh! Atem glared at the body lying near his bed. Damn you…The Pharaoh inwardly seethed pausing in his paces to stomp over to Akefia.

It took a hell of a lot of willpower not to kick him.

…Well, he might at least try to fix him up.

Atem quickly went about and gathered up whatever he thought would be useful in tending to the thief's wounds before walking back and kneeling beside him once more. The silence was eerie, almost, as Atem unwound the bandages taped around one of Akefia's arms. He couldn't help but wince as some of the scabbing wound peeled off with it. Ew. The young king shuddered and placed the dirty bandages in a bowl of warm water before turning his attentions to the arm itself.

It was a nasty looking wound. Obviously starting to get infected, the edges were crusted and oozing. Whatever had made this wound hadn't been clean. It was deep enough to see muscle and skin re-attaching and healing. It was a good sign, but not something Atem wanted to look at. The Pharaoh bit the inside of his cheek, his stomach turning.

Puzzled about what to do, Atem decided to wait until morning to do anything serious, not wanting to risk doing any more damage with his incompetence. With a frustrated sigh he ran a hand through his tangled hair and slouched, as if deflating. What had he gotten himself into? Carefully he wrapped the wounds in new bandages and scooted the man back under the bed. Lying on his stomach the young king was able to reach around the man's unconscious body and get the blankets back in order, seeing as they'd been shoved aside rather quickly. Unfortunately, this required a lot of leaning over the thief. His stench practically wafted off of him, rising with his body heat, which, Atem noticed, was really warm. He let his hand touch a patch of un-bandaged skin near Akefia's chest, just to check.

Yep, still feverish.

Gods, what was it that stopped a fever again? Atem tried to remember the last time he had one, what had been done for him. It was foggy, but he distinctly remembered the unpleasant shock of being placed in an icy bath.

That sounded fun.


End file.
